Who are the Governments? They sleep in the anuses of snails and dream until horns snap like twigs. They crack shells, make slugs. You must trust them. Take a mop to the slime trails. Take a mop and map democracy as uninterrupted, oceanic greyscale: fertile ground for aspirant tyrants, wee gobshites who want approval, who want to be as tall as trees and fall on your new build, on your children’s children like a biblical curse. You must praise them. You must pin them to your walls. You thought things couldn’t get worse? Well, think again. Then, unthink before the governments stop unthinking of you. As long as your thoughts are not their thoughts, they have much work to do, there is slime to be flung in the name of diversity. They shatter a heart and commemorate the whole. They are most for you when against you, when fracking the earth beneath your leather soles. You must sing their songs. Your voice must be heard. Who chose the muzak? It is the governments forming global warming. It is the milking of domestic markets. It is a lifeline skewered by a deadline. The governments like to paralyse the hip clubs, the happening scenes, and perch by God’s neck like parrots, or mosquitos.
Rob A. Mackenzie lives in Leith, Edinburgh. His second full collection was The Good News (Salt, 2013) and he is reviews editor for Magma Poetry magazine.